


A Study in Kissing

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Zeryn Brosca [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Kissing, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt by the lovely delazeur: What kind of kisser is Zeryn? She's got some lips, so I figure Alistair is into that?</p><p>Zeryn Brosca's first kiss with Alistair and some kissing thereafter. First posted on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Kissing

Zeryn’s feelings for this big, dumb human are…complex. On the one hand, he sets her almost immediately at ease with his jokes and his self-deprecation. On the other…well. He’s tall, and gorgeous, and she finds the whole clean-shaven tanned look to her taste, after all the pale bearded Dwarves of Orzammar. She’s a little awed by all the humans at first – Duncan and Cailan and Alistair – but it’s hard to still be in awe of Alistair after a few weeks on the road. Still, she’s…more than surprised when she finds out he’s a virgin. He’s just so pretty that she has a hard time imagining these human women not desiring him, even if he’s awkward and fumbling and constantly wrong-footed. She likes basically everything about him.

  
But she’s completely taken aback when he seems to feel the same way. She’s a duster - irreverent, crass, and only really skilled at bashing heads in and picking pockets – so she doesn’t expect him to see anything in her, besides maybe a companion on whom to pawn off the responsibility of stopping the Blight. Just because they both come from a background of being trapped in a life they didn’t choose and didn’t want, just because they are the last two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden with a nearly identical life expectancy, doesn’t mean that he will like her back.

  
But he does. And she’s speechless while he’s stumbling over the confession.

“I’ve come to…care, for you. A great deal. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself. Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…feel the same way about me?”

She doesn’t know how he has missed the greedy way her eyes follow him each night at camp, the way she hangs on his stories of his life before, with the other Wardens, the way she laughs at all his terrible jokes. Maybe it’s because of the way Leliana looks at her, which has caused everyone in camp to think they were a couple.

She says, soft and urgent, “I already do.”

“So I fooled you, did I? Good to know.”

And Zeryn’s only thought is what idiots they both are, each pining from afar with the conviction that the other could never care, never want, before her hand is clutching the front of his armor and pulling him down. Alistair goes willingly, hand slipping to her cheek, but she’s still on her tiptoes when her lips meet his. It’s sloppy and awkward and needy, she unfamiliar with the height difference and the way her whole body arches upwards into his touch; he just full of unpracticed fervor.

 

Zeryn is the one who initiates the kissing, after that. She finds some way to pull Alistair down to her level – by his armor, by his chin, with her fingers combing through the hair on the nape of his neck – and presses her lips to his. It takes a while for them both to find a rhythm to it, but eventually Alistair begins to anticipate her tugging fingers and bends to her smoothly when she wants him to. She is insistent, always brushes her chapped lips lightly against Alistair’s like she’s staking a claim – mine – before deepening the kiss to something rougher. Their kisses are all tongue and teeth and raw demand, because Zeryn needs his bottom lip between her teeth and his hands in her hair as a tangible reminder that this is real, not a dream or a lie or a misguided hope in a world where either of them could fall under a darkspawn’s blade at any moment. Neither of them ultimately had a choice in this war, but they have a choice in this, and that’s all that matters. Godless, these humans call her, and it’s true, because the only thing Zeryn really believes in is the feel of Alistair’s skin and the only thing she lets herself want is thirty years at his side before the taint takes them and they die back to back, swords in hand.


End file.
